On a crisp, cool morning almost 16 years ago, Brad and I left our home as a couple. When we returned, we were a family of three. Gray made me a mommy, and while I know it’s cliché, my heart and life have never been the same. And I wouldn’t want them to be.
He was 8 pounds, 9 ounces of quiet, contemplative baby. He liked to be held, and just look around with his big blue eyes. The hospital staff referred to him as the sweet baby. There was one nurse who called him the Poop Master. But that’s a different story. Continue reading Gray
My sweet Hope is now 13 years old. She’s a funny, loving girl who constantly wants tickles and loves to hear stories. She adores her daddy, her mom and her brother. It’s not at all unusual for her to approach with a twinkle in her eye and yell, “Tickle me!” And then she runs in the other direction, hoping to be chased, while her giggles fill the air. Hope is a gift from heaven, and I see so much potential in her.
But when she was almost 2, I was terrified for her future. Hope had no words, zero. Her only communication was through crying. She didn’t respond to her name and she would not interact with us. I could walk up behind her, clap my hands and shout her name, and she would have no response. Nothing. Not a cry, not a laugh, not even a startle. Continue reading The View From Now